For Honor, Love, And Glory
by Hazuzu
Summary: In the past of Hogwarts, the blind heir of of a Pureblood family falls in love with a Muggle-born peasant.


This story was written for the Semi-Final Round of the Seventh Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Chaser 3 for The Tutshill Tornados.

**Name of Round:** It's a Classic

**My task this round is as follows:** A character makes a sacrifice to ensure someone's happiness

**These are the prompts I'm using to as a chaser to score some extra points:**

5\. (color) powder blue  
3\. (dialogue) "Have I told you lately how much I love you?"  
13\. (quote) "It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."- Mark Twain

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of Harry Potter.

Thanks to all my betas!

**WARNING:** Contains discrimination, mention of child abuse, and death.

**Title:** For Honor, Love, And Glory

**Words:** 2979 (GoogleDocs)

* * *

/End of Author's Notes/

* * *

Bailey stood uneasily as the Sorting Hat was pulled from her head. Everyone's eyes were on her, a (figuratively) dirty and (literally) scrawny little thing standing at the head of a hall stuffed to the brim with privilege. She shuffled to the table marked by the golden banner of Hufflepuff and slipped into the nearest seat. She sighed and slumped as the Hall's eyes turned to the next student and she was freed of expectation.

There were Lord and Ladies all around her; the kind of folks her pa had always said to avoid no matter what. Good or bad, nobility's attention always meant trouble, and he'd near had a heart attack when a wizard had appeared on their rotted doorstep.

"Good day," greeted a lank-haired boy from across the table. Bailey didn't trust that smile. "Bailey, was it not? Did your tutor never tell you about posture at the dinner table?"

"No, m'lord. Sorry, m'lord," Bailey muttered. She straightened her back and that seemed to please him, although they hadn't even been served dinner yet, so what did it matter? She was joined at either side by other students, both with skin as clear as a crisp spring morning and hair that'd been cut with scissors rather than an old dagger.

The food that popped onto their plates gave Bailey a start and filled her nose with the kind succulent scents she could only dream of. She shoved a spoonful of creamy potatoes into her mouth and nearly threw it all back up again, so rich was the flavor.

Bailey put her fork to the side of her plate and regarded the rest of the table. The noble lots were bantering about this charm and that, their families and heritages, and it seemed to her like they were brawling with their tongues. And most importantly… none of them were watching her. Nor the plentiful silverware that shimmered among the gravy-soaked meats and plump vegetables.

How long would she be able to stay here? They'd said she was a witch, but she'd not seen much proof of it, and she knew she didn't look the part. So… if she was going to be thrown out soon…

Bailey's hand shot out to grab a small silver spoon and slipped it up her sleeve. The robe concealed the whole affair. She pilfered a fork, a couple of knives, and that'd be more than her pa could make in a year. There was a big spoon sitting right beside her; that'd be it for the day, else she'd jingle like the tax man's coin pouch. She glanced down the length of the table again, her hand shot out, and found something other than metal under her bony fingers.

"Have I found a suitor already?" The voice was soft like honey. Bailey span around to face the source. "Mother will be so pleased." It was a girl with the milky skin of someone who'd never worked a day under the sun, rich black hair and delicate features from her ears to her fingertips… which Bailey's fingers were currently wrapped around.

"Sorry!" Bailey yanked her hand back and shoved it under the desk. "Sorry, m'lady. I didn't mean t', I swear."

The girl blinked her rheumy, powder-blue eyes. They weren't focused on Bailey; they didn't seem to be focused on anything. "You don't sound like the other House Elves. You're at least a foot too tall."

"I'm not a..." Bailey frowned. "Whatever that is."

"That's a terrible shame! 'Twas an amusing jest," the stranger said.

Bailey waited long enough to realize what was expected and forced herself to laugh.

The girl's head twitched to the side. "Was that a pity laugh?"

"N-No, m'lady." Bailey blurted. "Sorry, m'lady. I've a queer laugh, is all." Better to be an idiot than a whipped smart-arse. She repeated that to herself until her heart stopped pounding.

The girl might have been regarding her; it was hard to tell with how her eyes drifted about their sockets. "But you didn't understand the joke. So, did you laugh for some other reason, perhaps? Perhaps you took some joy in my condition?" she asked in a whisper barely audible above the racket of dinner.

"What?" Bailey leaned back.

"In my blindness?"

"I..." Bailey felt her temper flare inside her. "I'd never!" she barked. "Never, ever!" She flushed as soon as a few heads swiveled to face her and sunk into her seat. The girl to her right shifted a little closer to her, biting her lip as she did so.

"I believe you," the stranger whispered. "But now I'm curious. Why so angry? You were calling me m'lady, which isn't the proper address, not that it matters."

Bailey waited until the heads had turned back to their previous conversations before muttering her response. "It don't matter."

"Please?" the blind girl pleaded.

"It's..." Bailey chewed her tongue. "It's private."

"A secret, is it? That's fine. I'll tell you one of mine and we can trade. My mother once told me I'm lucky I wasn't drowned like the squibs that came before me," the girl said with a fixed smile and a tone like she was sharing a recipe. "And that I would have been if her womb hadn't wilted. Your turn."

Bailey stared at her, mouth agape. She didn't know what a squib was, but she could guess it meant babes that came out wrong. The wailing of the miller's wife still haunted her some nights. "I..." She swallowed. "My little sister lost her hand when she was littler. She was lucky to not lose her life and she gets all kinds of words for it. Pa said he'd gut anyone that said a bad word, and he's right." Just imagining some of the things she'd heard made her clench her fist tight. "I'd do it too."

The blind girl nodded slowly and patted Bailey's fist. "My name is Honor Selwyn. Let's be friends."

"I'm Bailey. Just Bailey," Bailey said with a frown. "Why be friends?"

"Because you're candid, and that's more interesting than most people. And you're going to need somebody to teach you about how _nobility," _Honor sneered, "handles decorum. Also, I need somebody to read to me."

"I-I only know a couple words," Bailey admitted. And even that was only because the wizard who took her to Diagon Alley had taught her.

"You needn't worry. They teach Mudbloods that sort of thing." Honor held out her hand. "What say you? Shall we be friends?"

Bailey nodded. Then remembered and said "Yes." She looked at the hand, racked her mind, and gently kissed the top of it.

Honor snickered.

* * *

"You needn't have taken Muggle Studies with me," Honor cooed as she and Bailey walked across the Hogwarts grounds, her delicate fingers laced with Bailey's bony ones. "It will be like a rabbit attending hopping lessons."

"But you might need me." Bailey glanced down at her friend; she'd grown as tall as her pa in just a couple of years. Her sister had put it down to the fancy grub at Hogwarts.

"Oh, I will. And then the Professor will claim something preposterous, and you will get irritated, and I will urge you to endeavor in temperance, and then you will say..." Honor held out a hand.

"I'm not falling for it." Bailey shook her head with a smile.

"Oh, please Bailey," Honor simpered. "You're already so kind and chivalrous, so dedicated and patient. If you take cleverness, I'll become so green with envy I'll be forced to join Slytherin."

Bailey wanted to tell her she was wrong about all of those things because her blush wouldn't do the job, but it wouldn't have pleased Honor anywhere near so much as playing along. "But temperance means I ought t' be angry."

"So it may seem!" Honor smirked. "But temperance has little do with temper, aside from the matter of resisting—"

"Are you letting that Mudblood touch you now?" condemned a nasty, rasping voice from behind them. Honor held her arm out to stop Bailey's walking and guided her to turn around. They faced a scrubby-haired boy with broad shoulders and a face built for sneering. "You could at least have it fitted for a leash."

Bailey bit her tongue. She'd done that so often it had a callous.

"A wonderful suggestion," Honor said softly, "but I'm afraid I haven't the funds. Perhaps we could borrow one; when is Mrs. Gaunt visiting?"

The look on the boy's face told her that it was an insult, but she couldn't put her finger on why.

"Clearly its manners are rubbing off on you." The boy barely held back a snarl. "Let's hear it talk for itself. Do you know words, Mudblood? Can. You. Understand. What. I. Am. Saying?"

"You needn't answer." Honor squeezed Bailey's hand softly and cooled the fire in her veins. "He has his mother's manners and his cousin's father."

The boy's eyes shot back to Honor. "I was talking to the Hufflepuff Halfbreed, not the Cripple of Selwyn."

A smile graced Honor's lips, but she didn't have time to speak. Fury was in Bailey's eyes and her wand in her hand. She roared an incantation, and the boy's face swelled up, smothering his eyes in raw flesh as she darted forward and slammed the toe of her boot into his gut. She did it again and again and again and…

"Bailey!" Honor gasped. "I believe he understands his mistake."

Bailey peered through the red mist and saw the boy sobbing on the ground. Her knuckles were bone-white as she turned away from him, back to Honor.

"Come. Let's continue with our walk." Honor held out her hand and Bailey took it, still panting in anger. "And I think our next topic will be you casting a Conjunctivitis Curse. Where did you learn such a thing?"

"The-the library."

"In the restricted section, I assume." Honor shook her head, but she was smiling. "It seems your skulduggery extends beyond silverware, hmm?"

Bailey shot a glare over her shoulder. "If they didn't want me t' curse arseholes, they shouldn't have taught me t' read."

* * *

Honor and Bailey were sat in an opulent dining room the likes of which Bailey had only seen at Hogwarts, where every surface was polished and even the chairs were perfumed. Mr. Selwyn, a lanky man, was standing beside his wife, both slender and clad in outfits that could have bought Bailey's home twice over and cast in the same shade of sapphire as their hawkish eyes.

"She has been given the birch a dozen times—" read Mr. Selwyn.

"Has she?" Honor half-heartedly gasped. "This is the first I'm hearing of it."

Mr. Selwyn's mouth hung open as he was interrupted.

"Dear Hogwarts, have you considered more severe discipline for sardonicism?" Mrs. Selwyn intoned. "Carry on." She nodded to her husband.

"Right. Yes. I shall." Honor's father cleared his throat. "She has been given the birch a dozen times, the strap a half-dozen, the same for the cane, double that for the slipper, and has been forced to wear the..." He said it with great pain: "The 'Wizzard' hat at least once every term." He lowered the parchment and looked to Honor. "She is a..." He shot a very brief glance at Bailey. "A menace, Honor."

"You're correct, father. She is truly a menace." Honor bobbed her head. Bailey flashed a smile despite the reminder of the welts that were still healing on her back. "To those who would denigrate me. I have not been called a cripple for months; not until you greeted me at the door, as it happens."

"I said nothing of the sort." Mrs. Selwyn rolled her eyes.

Honor sighed. "Bailey, did she just roll her eyes?"

"Yes."

"I know you, mother, and your subtle insults are not nearly so sly as you believe."

Mrs. Selwyn's nostrils flared, and Mr. Selwyn shot a wary sideways glance her way. "Then I needn't use finesse when I tell you our judgment: You may be a cripple, and we will tolerate it. You may engage in… I dread to even think, whatever you call it, with a Mudblood woman, and we will tolerate it. But both?" She licked her lips. "We would be spat upon by even the incestuous rat's nest that is the Gaunts."

Honor squeezed Bailey's hand beneath the table so hard it pinched. She was almost glad for the pain; it gave her something to focus on other than the desire to curse Mrs. Selwyn's mouth shut.

"I did not choose to be blind," Honor said slowly.

"And we did not choose to be riddled with squibs and invalids," Mrs. Selwyn coldly replied. Mr. Selwyn nodded.

"Bailey." Honor rose so fast her chair skidded on the spotless floor. "Let us depart for now."

Bailey rose with her and stalked towards the door. Mr. Selwyn seemed to reach out to open the door for them, but a glare from Bailey sent his hand back behind his back. They moved out of the dining room, through the hall, and into the night. They were out for but a second before Honor rose on her tiptoes to kiss Bailey, then parted with tears in her eyes.

"I wish that I were not cursed this way," Honor said, her voice raw.

"For them?" Bailey asked as she held Honor to her, hoping that she might provide some small shelter from the wind.

"For me." Honor smiled humorlessly. "So I could be with you. So I could see your face." She lifted her hand, ran it over Bailey's features. "So that there would be no excuse to pull us apart."

"Maybe." Bailey did her best not to let her anger twist her features. "Isn't there something to be done? About them being… like that."

"Dropping dead might stop them complaining," Honor said with bitter humor. "But enough of this. Let's find somewhere more comfortable to spend the night."

Bailey's eyes flicked to the windows of the manor as they departed.

* * *

Bailey swooped through Knockturn Alley with speed in her steps and her cloak wrapped tightly around her. She knew how the street liked to twist by now, but she had no time to dilly-dally, something that its other occupants seemed to notice too. They limited themselves to brief nods or waves as she passed by; even old Mally Fisent restrained herself to a hearty greeting rather than a ten-minute conversation about how her Mandrake whistles were coming along.

Then she arrived outside the door to the Leaky Cauldron. Her left arm flared with pain, and she did her best to shake it away before stalking inside. It was early enough that the pub was full but late enough that most people were too into their cups to notice her presence. She passed by the bartender with a nod and a passed key, then she was up the stairs, through the creaking hall, and through the last door on the right.

"Is that my beloved Bailey?" Honor asked as she sat upright on the bed that dominated the room.

"It's me." Bailey couldn't help her grin as she crossed the room and sat beside Honor, greeting her with a kiss as she pulled a brown bag from her robes. "And I have a gift. Something t' solve all the shite with your parents."

"I'd heard you'd been shaking hands with Dark wizards, but that language is hardly appropriate," Honor chastised with a little laugh. "I suppose I shall accept, my Dark Lady."

Bailey passed the bag into Honor's upturned palms.

Honor untied the top of the sack and frowned as her fingers brushed its contents. She slowly pulled the object out until it was sat completely in her lap: A bony hand wrapped tight around a candle and tied at the wrist with a chain. "Is… I'm not sure I understand..." Honor said. "A hand?"

"Yes." Bailey nodded. "And not jus—"

"Bailey." Honor ran her fingers over the knuckles of the cold object, over the fingers, over the knuckles. "I… I recognize this hand. It… it isn't, is it?"

"It's mine," Bailey said. She knew that there would be confusion to start with, but she couldn't let it hurt her. She was right.

"Why..." Honor paused. The cloud over her eyes started to fade, the powder-blue turning into the rich sapphire of the Selwyns, but soft where theirs had been sharp. Honor's hands shook as she looked up at Bailey, meeting her eyes for the first time. "I… I… is this? I-I can see."

"It's called a Hand of Glory," Bailey said, smiling again as Honor's head twitched, taking in every inch of the room. "It lets whoever holds it, wears it, see like they have candlelight. Doesn't matter if it's because of night, or magic… or blindness."

"Bailey..." Honor bit her trembling bottom lip as she reached out, rolled up Bailey's left sleeve to reveal the stump at the end of her forearm. "You… you did this for me?"

Bailey shook her head. "For me. T' see you happy." She reached out with her remaining hand and stroked hair from Honor's face. "And now your parents can't complain. You can see like anyone else and we can be together."

Tears pooled at the corners of Honor's eyes. "I suppose I will have to keep it tucked somewhere out of sight; I'm afraid others may not be so pleased to see it as I am. But thank you." She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her robe and laughed again. "Thank you a thousand times" And then they kissed and kissed, with her repeating the sentiment each time their lips met. "Have I told you lately how much I love you?" She asked.

"Once or twice." Bailey shrugged, her lips sore from smiling and kissing both.

"That is dozen too few."


End file.
